


The Summer I Met You

by bothromeoandjuliet



Category: Archie Comics, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, And we have a Zelda, F/M, I don't know its a 20s au, Jughead is mostly called and referred to as Forsythe, Jughead isn't poor, Slow To Update, Veronica Lodge is a flirt, Veronica has short hair, We have a Fitzgerald, and he's a writer, but has a lot of hidden depth, what do you want from me??
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-07-30 13:36:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20098060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bothromeoandjuliet/pseuds/bothromeoandjuliet
Summary: It's the summer of 1921 and Forsythe 'Jughead' Jones the third is going to spend the summer at his schoolmate's summer estate, to write, relax, and get away from the constant bustle of the city. But with a semi-celebrity living next door, his perfect summer may be more a dream then a reality.(Jeronica 20's au)





	1. It Starts On A Train

**Author's Note:**

> I promised you guys two historical Jeronica fics and I have delivered...almost...as in I've delivered the first chapter of each...and started the second chapters...yeah. ANYWAY! I hope that you enjoy this concept; head down to the comments to give me mental support and an ego boost.  
\- bothromeoandjuliet <3<3<3

It was June 14th, 1921, and Forsythe Jones was sitting in a private train compartment, heading towards the rest of his life.

Not that he knew he was, of course. At the moment his only assumption was that, after another hour and a half or so, the train would stop and he would disembark it, bag in hand, mind and body ready for the same sort of summer he’d been experiencing for the past twelve years.

A fellow passenger passed by the glass partition, curious stare drawn towards Forsythe and his companion, and in an attempt to avoid his eye, Forsythe turned his gaze studiously to the book lying open on his knee. The man, thus repulsed, disappeared from view, leaving Forsythe to sigh in relief and let his gaze wander away from his book once again; out the window, then back to his friend’s sleeping figure.

_“I say, Jughead,” _Archie’s voice had bellowed over the phone two nights ago _“I’ve got some rather rotten news to tell you.”_

He had doubted that, the very thought of Archie having to endure anything ‘rotten’ in what had so far been a charmed life had seemed somewhat ridiculous, but through the bumbling mess of words that had followed he had picked out the words; party, friends of friends, drinking, lending the car, and a bad crash, and suddenly the world had made sense once again.

So two days later he’d gotten a cab to the train station and, ticket in hand, had boarded the train with Archie’s lamentations filling up his ears. Repair prices had been their topic of conversation at first, but then the rocking motion of the train and too many nights spent un-rested caught up to Archie, and soon enough he had fallen asleep, snoring softly into the quiet, dust-speckled compartment, leaving Forsythe to his own thoughts, of which he had many.

As a member of the third generation of a new money family, in the most dissipation filled class of people in New York, all that was demanded of Forsythe was that he please his parents a very little, and himself a great deal, and this so far he had done with alacrity.

His parents, well, his mother really, had sent Forsythe to the best schools in New York. That’s where he’d come across Archie, both of them awkward and edging on the manhood of thirteen. Forsythe had liked Archie for his good-temper and since Archie had no objection to either Forsythe’s brain or his overly-sharp tongue, the two of them had become as thick as thieves within their first week of acquaintance and twelve years later their friendship showed no sign of ending.

By the end of the mandatory years of schooling Forsythe had managed to become thoroughly disillusioned when it came to the American school system, so his parents had packed him off to Oxford to let him spend the next four years of his life becoming disillusioned by the English school system too.

He had enjoyed the quiet of collage, with it’s old buildings and solemn professors, and he’d enjoyed coming back across the ocean every summer to stay with Archie at his family’s country residence just like he’d been doing every summer since they’d first met, but all good things must come to an end, and Forsythe’s collage career ended, much sooner then he would have liked it to, and back he went to New York, with a trunk-full of books and a head filled with ideas.

His parents, although pleased to have him home; ready and able to be introduced to their various friends as, ‘my boy, just back from Oxford;’ did not really know what to do with him. He was too bookish for his father, who spent most of his time in clubs, smoking cigars and gossiping with other club members like so many little old women, and his mother, who spent most of her time hidden away in her bedroom soothing her nerves, found that after parading him before the rest of her nervous friends she had no other use for him and thew him aside to amuse himself.

Even Forsythe’s sister, Genevieve to her parents, Jellybean to her friends and brother, had no need for his company, having sprouted up to be a fast girl of seventeen during Forsythe’s absence. They didn’t get on very well together, for he didn’t like the group of people she called friends, and she didn’t like his attempts at authority, and long before the hot sun of summer had shown it’s glowing face to the city they had both come to the unspoken agreement of spending as little time in each-other’s company as possible.

Another town whizzed by, disappearing from the view visible from the window. Forsythe stretched, and closed the book on his knee with a dull thud, sighing as he did so, for he was as dissatisfied with it as he was with everything else, and the feeling was rather tiresome. He glanced to Archie and then to his watch, determining how much longer he had to spend in solitude, and evidently didn’t like his prospects, for he stood and exited the compartment, ready to brave the polite remarks of his fellow passengers if the reward was in the form of the lunch car.

Riverdale was a secluded town, one that no-one was quiet certain about the origins of. Some people said that it had once been a mill town, others that it had simple appeared with no warning one day, but the one thing everyone seemed to agree upon, was that Riverdale would never have become the retreat of New York’s oldest and richest families if it hadn’t been for the fact that many years ago a man, who shall remain nameless, had been tricked into buying property in the district and in an attempt to retain his self-pride and dignity of character had tricked other’s into buying property as well, before flitting away to Europe, never to be seen or heard of again.

This was the story, or at least the rumor that surrounded Riverdale, and no-one who lived there ever seemed to challenge it. They were all too busy with their money and their own personal scandals to pay any attention to anyone else’s, which is perhaps why so many chose to settle there. The houses were all too far apart for people to visit their neighbors in the colder months, and when warm days had returned everyone was too busy with summer parties and house-guests to pay attention to what so-and-so had gotten up to in the spring. This habit of Riverdale’s residents was one that Forsythe particularly admired, for in the circle he inhabited in New York, no-one’s business was their own for more then five minutes, after which time it was consider to be the rightful property and entertainment of everyone. He liked New York, with it’s buildings and it’s strange variety of businesses, but he liked the comfortable anonymousness of Riverdale more.

With thoughts like these in his head and a cold sandwich in his stomach, Forsythe returned to his compartment to find Archie just waking up, with bleary eyes and a face so red from having been rubbed that it seemed to Forsythe that it was a wonder that none of Archie’s skin had come off.

“If it weren’t for that idiot Harrison and his ineptitude when it comes to cars, we should have gotten to Riverdale hours ago.” Archie growled, not exactly at Forsythe; more at the world in general.

The question as to why Archie had lent his car to a man he found so idiotic passed through Forsythe’s mind, but he kept his face as blank and unmoving as a stone, hoping for the result of ‘least said soonest mended’ but it seemed Archie was not about to let his complaints be beaten down by silence.

He complained the rest of the train ride, and he complained while they stood waiting for a cab. In fact, Archie managed to complain right up to the front steps of his parent’s front door, at which point he brighten considerably, clapping Forsythe’s shoulder with great force and declaring that he, (Archie,) had never come across such an agreeable listen as Forsythe and doubted very much whether he should ever again, before thrusting the driver his fair and bouncing out of the car with such speed that he collided, knee first, with the family’s dog, who greeted him with a triumphant bark that seemed to cry, “I know my master’s face.”

A servant followed, hurrying to the cab’s trunk to collect Archie’s and Forsythe’s luggage, and a half-step behind him came Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, too excited for the reunion with their son to follow the popular custom of waiting for him to come to them.

“Archie, darling!” Mrs. Andrews cried, embracing her son, then stepping back to allow her husband to take her place and catching sight of Forsythe.

“And Forsythe too, it’s just so wonderful to see you again! Archie said he wasn’t certain whether you’d be able to join us this summer!”

“Nothing could of kept me away Mrs. Andrews. Indeed I-“

“Not be able to join us? Why I knew that was a ridiculous thought from the start Mary; Forsythe not being able to join us even though he’s been coming by standing invitation for the past twelve years, even when he went away to collage he came back to us!” Mr. Andrews interrupted, stepping forward to embrace Forsythe as if he too was a dear son returning from a long journey.

Forsythe returned the embrace, any annoyance at being interrupted dissipating as soon as it appeared. To be angry at Mary and Fred Andrews, who had long since replaced his parents in his affections; impossible. The thought was not to be born with and so he threw it away instantly, a blinding smile burning away his usual scowl as he looked upon them.

“I do wish you would have told us that you were coming by train,” Mrs. Andrews chastised her son as they entered the house. “For if you had we could have, we _would_ have sent the car to meet you at the station! I do so louth the idea of you having to make use of a cab when you have just made use of our car!”

Mrs. Andrews’ voice rang out loudly, and Forsythe bit back a chuckle at the sight of one of the housemaids, who had just entered the entry-way at the opposite end, hastily retreating at the sound of it. Perhaps Mr. Andrews had observed it as well, for he tucked her arm against his own and spoke in a voice intended to quell his wife’s slightly unreasonable frustration.

“I quiet agree with you my dear, you are perfectly right, but perhaps we should talk it over during dinner and give the boys a few hours to settle in before you begin lecturing them.”

"Well I’m sure that _I _never lecture,” turning to look over her shoulder and wink at both boys “but I’m sure that the boys will want to change after having to ride on a dusty train. Archie dear, you might put out your shoes for cleaning after you’ve changed; I do declare that I haven’t seen your shoes so muddied since you were a boy!”

And so with that parting remark and a toss of her brilliant hair, Mrs. Andrews sauntered away, arm still affectionately wrapped around her husband’s. Both Archie and Forsythe looked after them for a moment before turning to the large staircase to go to their rooms.

“I told mother to put you in the same room as always Jughead. Not but what she would have even if I hadn’t told her. It’s more your room then a guest room, in fact I don’t believe it’s been used by anyone but you these past twelve years.”

Forsythe nodded, and with the head of the staircase growing nearer Archie exclaimed, “It’s sort of sickening to see them so happy, isn’t it?”

“Why do you say that? Aren’t you glad to see you parents so happy?”

“Well, yes I am; of course I am, it’s just…Do you ever think that all the happiness and the love has been used up? After all, you always hear stories of your parents, or your grandparents, and how they always have the most wonderful experiences when it comes to love, but nowadays it’s this inaccessible thing that we’re always striving for and never quiet managing to reach…”

Archie trailed off uncertainly and Forsythe nodded, not in agreement, but in sympathy. Archie had been thrown over by a girl that spring. A beautiful girl Archie had told him, beautiful and tragic and frightfully clever and Archie had loved her.

Forsythe, although he’d never met the lady in question, had done his best to forewarn his friend that she was very likely just stringing him along, but Archie’d refused to believe him, insisting that Forsythe was a bitter fool. A few weeks later the other shoe had dropped; another man had come along and swept the girl not only off her feet, but also down the isle and into to matrimonial happiness and it had been ‘bye-bye Archie’ as fast as you could snap your fingers.

“I’m sure it’ll all work out Archie, so long as you don’t worry about it.”

Nodding rather pathetically, Archie turned away towards his room. Forsythe watched him as he disappeared out of view with worried eyes, an uncomfortable sensation of sympathy rolling through him. It was very good, he thought, that Archie was home. The city and it’s seclusion wasn’t good for Archie’s temperament.

After changing, Forsythe decided to walk about the grounds until he was called for dinner, seeing as his things were to be unpacked by one of the servants and he knew that Archie would appreciate the time alone with his parents.

All the estates in the area the Andrews’ lived in had been lived in by a set of brothers and sisters when they were first built, and therefore the names of the estates had been themed by types of trees. Archie’s parents owned the the Willow House, and their only neighbors, the Coopers, owned the Elm House.

The Coopers were another family that had been set firmly in the ‘old money’ category once upon a time, but over the past few years scandals had been revealed that had only been hushed up after the marriage of their oldest daughter Polly to the esteemed Blossom family.

Alice Cooper _nee_ Smith’s true claim to fortune had been revealed to be a distant relative’s button business, their only son had disappeared to the continent, and to cap it all, it had been revealed that Mr. Cooper had acquired so many gambling debts that it had become necessary for the family to give up their house in town and reside permanently at Elm House.

The grounds, what Forsythe could see of them at least, retained the well groomed appearance they always had however, so perhaps things had gotten better for the Coopers of the winter. Forsythe hoped they had; he’d always had a soft spot for the Coopers.

Dinner, and the time leading up to it, passed very pleasantly. The Andrews’ were really pleased to have Archie back at home; pleased in a very different way then Forsythe’s own parents had ever been when _he_ had returned home. They asked about both the boy’s currant interests, were never surprised at anything, and even after Mrs. Andrews had retired to the drawing room, not a single second second of Mr. Andrews’ conversation had concerned business.

“Fred darling, be a dear and light my cigarette, would you? I can’t seem to get a these matches to stay lit.”

“Shall I close the window?” Forsythe asked, turning to her.

“Oh, no,” said Mrs. Andrews, tilting her chin towards her husband who was holding a match in readiness. “I wish we could Forsythe, since it’s such a chilly night, quite unusual for this time of year, but Alice is coming to call tomorrow, and she is _so_ against smoking at all, let alone in-doors, that I am sure she would never speak to me again if she were to catch the scent of cigarette smoke."

“I expect that she’s had to grow accustomed to the smell over these past few weeks, my dear.” said Mr. Andrews, sliding his matchbox into his pocket and sinking back into his armchair before continuing. “From what I’ve heard about their newest edition I would say that Alice’s remonstrants are likely to fall on deaf ears.”

“Houseguest?” Archie asked, stirring himself from the brown study he’d fallen into since dinner.

“Yes, of course Archie- Oh! but of course you wouldn’t know!” Exclaimed Mrs. Andrews as she realized her mistake. “The Coopers have invited a guest over for the summer, a Miss. Veronica Lodge, apparently. A friend of Betty’s, or a daughter of one of Alice’s schoolmates, I’m not quiet certain. We haven’t actually met her yet you see.”

Archie nodded, interested, and then asked another question, the answer to which was lost in the overlap of his parents replies. Forsythe, satisfied with his cigarette, said nothing, unwilling to shatter the unworldly innocence which seemed to surround the Andrews’ so thoroughly; even though out of the four of them he evidently knew the most about the Coopers mysterious guest. For Forsythe, although he had never seen the girl in question, had long been aquatinted with the legend of her, courtesy of his sister, who seemed to look up to Miss. Lodge as a master of everything and everyone.

Young men called her clever and enchanting, young women; depending on whether or not they had a young man; claimed that she was ‘good fun’ or ‘the most horrid flirt to walk the streets of New York,’ and the parents that were paying attention said that she was fast; locking up the impressional minds of their blessed innocents as quickly as they could.

Forsythe’s own opinion, helped on by the constant praises of his sister and the ever-constant flow of rumors attached to her name, was that she was another of the old money-ed prigs; desperate for attention and thrills, who would soon enough fade into the obscurity of marriage, never to be heard of again. He could only hope that she would do so before completely corrupting Jellybean.


	2. Same As People Who Aren't Different

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I present you with a bit of backstory and a bit of flirting. Let me know what you think in the comments and leave a kudos if you enjoyed!  
\- bothromeoandjuliet <3<3<3

Morning calls, Forsythe reflected to himself, were by far the worst idea that polite society had ever created. The very idea that the morning hours should be dedicated to anything other then a newspaper and good cup of strong coffee was horrific, and should have been rejected immediately from the mind of it's creator. The voices of Mrs. Andrews and Mrs. Cooper clacked rapidly against his ears and he was beginning to desperately yearn for a cigarette, despite the gleaming eye of Mrs. Cooper.

“And how are things getting on with your newest edition, Alice? Is she taking to her country life well?”

Mrs. Cooper sniffed, taking the cup of tea that Mrs. Andrews offered her, and then replied, “One might rather say that country life is taking to her, for I don’t believe you could ever see such a young lady so set in her own ways; so unpersuadable. Not that,” seeming to remember that as little as she might like her guest, she was still a guest, “she isn’t a pleasant enough girl. Always ready with a merry word or a smile if it’s needed, only she’s not what you would call ‘easily led.’ She will do things as she believes they should be done, but I don’t believe that she’d ever hurt harm someone willfully. However, Mary, you shall see how it is at dinner tonight; and you too of course, Mr. Jones.” nodding towards him, sending her false blonde curls swinging.

Forsythe smiled at her nod politely, choosing not to reveal the fact that he had no intention to going to the Cooper’s dinner and had, in fact, already determined what sort of headache he would be describing to get out of it. Last year it might have been different, but Forsythe had not yet forgotten the awkward confession that Mrs. Cooper had released last year, that she had known his father when they were both young and they had had some sort of friendship; a friendship, incidentally, that had led to Mrs. Cooper meeting and marrying Mr. Cooper.

Mrs. Cooper stood, Forsythe shook himself and jabbed at the vicinity of Archie’s ribs, rousing him from the quiet nap that he’d been enjoying behind The Times; the visit was ending and they must now all bid their visiter ado, no matter how much or how little they had appreciated her coming.

But no, “Was Betty at home?” and, once this question was answered in the affirmative, “We must go and say hello to Betty, mustn’t we Jughead?” and before Forsythe was quite certain what was being asked of him, he, Archie, and Mrs. Cooper were inside the Cooper’s drawing room, waiting for Betty to enter it.

She came soon enough, the blush in her cheeks matching her dress. Betty had not changed very much from the previous year, except that she stood a little taller, and moved as if she was slightly more at ease in her surroundings and the company that had invaded them.

“Do you have any idea where Veronica is, Elizabeth dear? And did Mrs. Hiders set out those jams like I asked her to? For the church fair you know,” turning to Archie and Forsythe. “for they are to give prizes this year and I know that there is no jam better then ours; not that I- not that we are in any way induced by prizes. Silly things; I know that I find them really very tedious.”

“I’m not sure where Veronica is; this morning she said she was going to be reading in the library, but she’s gone out since then and I haven’t seen or heard a thing about her since. And as for the jams, I know that Mrs. Hiders meant to set them out, but since you hadn’t left a list to say which once you wanted she decided to wait for you.”

Mrs. Copper hrmped and ahemed, then sat, first on one chair and then another, disturbing everyone until Archie suggested, fox-like, that she go down to the kitchen directly to reassure herself as to the state of things and leave the three innocents to their tété-a-tété. They were all thankful to watch her go, for there is nothing so dampening to the cheerful spirts of young gentlemen and ladies of that age then a restrictive adult who’s solemn duty is, it seems, to remind them of what tiring trials are to be expected in their futures.

“And how have you been Betty?” asked Archie, turning to her as soon as Mrs. Cooper had left the room.

“Me? Oh, I’ve just been grand, if anyone can be grand when their stuck in one place all the time.”

“And Polly and the twins? Do you get the occasional chance to see them?”

“Oh, yes. We see them tolerably often-“

Forsythe retreated to the window seat, keeping his eyes on his companions but tuning their conversation out as best he could. There Betty stood, eyes shining out softy from beneath sandy lashes, blonde curls caught up and nestled at the nape of her neck in a curving twist of hair. Her eyes remained fixed on Archie’s face, their expression mirroring the excitement in Archie’s, and Forsythe wondered what he was saying that had Betty so invested. A flush crept suddenly over the sloping cheek…Was this same girl then, that only last summer had inspired such passion within Forsythe’s chest? It couldn’t be, and yet it was. He had loved her, and he had regretted that love, and she herself remained completely unconscious of either fact. Ah well, it had been a vain hope that she could inspire anything more; Forsythe would have to elsewhere for his inspiration in the future.

Having decided this, Forsythe turned to the window and it’s view, leaving the indoor thoughts and reflections to those who could better enjoy them. It had been a dreary morning, and the clouds remained drooping over the ground, creating a sense of gloomy despair, and it suddenly seemed to Forsythe that it would never change; that the weather and his life would remain a sodden grey, without any bit of color or excitement to shake him from his melancholy.

“Oh, yes, Veronica’s just wonderful; absolutely swell!”

Betty’s words jerked Forsythe back into the conversation; his gaze never left the garden, but he perked up his ears, curious as to Betty was taking her family’s visiter.

“Well I’d heard, just around town you know, that she was a bit of an egg. ‘Course I didn’t tell my parents that, seeing as folks’ll say anything that comes into their head now days; don’t they Jughead?” Archie asked, appealing to an intelligence that he considered more reliable then his own.

“I’m sure I haven’t the foggiest, Archie.” Forsythe replied absentmindedly, his attention having just been caught by a brief glimpse of something light fluttering in the breeze on one of the garden walks.

“Well I don’t know what they say about her in the city and I don’t care, even if she is in one of those fast crowds. I’m sure if I were in her position I would go do anything with anyone just to get out of the house!”

“What do you mean by, ‘her position,’ Betty?” asked Archie.

“Well that's…It's not really any of my business…I really shouldn’t have said anything.” said Betty, flustered and stumbling over her words.

Forsythe craned his neck, peering closer and…yes, that was undoubtable a dress, or a skirt of a dress anyway.

“Cats out of the bag now Betty,” he said, interrupting the flow of Betty’s clumsy words, “you best tell us the truth, nothing less and nothing more, lest we beginning imagining all sorts of indescribable horrors.”

There, a break in the trees, leading to a gravel path hemmed with flowers. The dress, or more accurately it’s owner, turned the corner and Forsythe’s view was no longer obstructed. And yet Forsythe’s curiosity was not satisfied, for the woman, whom he could only assume to be the infamous Miss. Lodge, wore a large, wide brimmed hat that hide her features from his gaze.

“Well it isn’t anything that Veronica is connected with, not directly at least…But I know it distresses her even if she doesn’t say anything about it.”

“And what is this mysterious ‘it,’ Betty?”

“That’s…It is…Oh! Well if you must have the truth then I suppose I must tell you; Veronica’s father has taken a mistress and has actually brought her to live with the family in their house in town.”

“A mistress? To live with them?” sputtered Archie, his voice indignant.

Up and down, up and down the walks went the white robed figure, Forsythe’s eyes watching her all the while.

“Yes a mistress. She’s some sort of awful, silly woman! And Veronica’s mother won’t agree to a divorce; or isn’t asking for one, I don’t really the particulars. Anyhow, Veronica’s mother went to school with my mother; back when they were little girls, and so since the Lodge’s country house is undergoing some renovations this summer, and Mrs. Lodge couldn’t stand the idea of Veronica staying in the house with that woman all summer, she wrote to Mother asking if Veronica could come here, and of course my mother said yes. She asked Mrs. Lodge to come too but apparently Mrs. Lodge thought that it would create to much gossip if both she and Veronica were to leave town without Mr. Lodge, and of course as the Lodge’s are so influential they all must be very careful about what gets out.”

Forsythe turned; the figure had disappeared from view once again and he had a sudden, unexplainable distaste for the gloomy landscape. Betty’s eyes were shining brightly with excitement and her lips hung, rose-bud pink and slightly parted, but they held no interest to Forsythe anymore. He had a urge to be gone, for what reason he wasn’t sure, excepting that the air in the room was heavily perfumed with the scent of roses, and he couldn’t seem to catch his breath.

“Well I call that completely monstrous of Miss. Lodge’s father. To have a mistress is not unheard of I must admit, disgusting as I find it personally, but to actually bring a kept woman into the same house as your wife and only child; _and _a daughter no less! It really is most horrible and ungentlemanly, and should I ever meet the Mr. Lodge I would tell him so straight off, and rough him up too I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Oh, Archie,” Betty began, clasping her hands to express her admiration, even while a cloud of worry filled her eyes. “But you really mustn’t tell anyone what I’ve said, for Veronica’s only told me part of it, and of course Mother talks so when it is just her and me, but really I’m not very certain of anything, and if it gets about…You won’t say anything, will you? You really mustn’t!”

“Of course we won’t Betty.” Forsythe answered, coming more into the room and dropping his hand on Archie’s shoulder as he spoke. “I’ll promise for myself, as well as Archie, that we won’t say a word, so don’t go on worrying about it, there’s a doll. We’d better dance off anyhow, I’m sure that Mr. Andrews has been expecting Archie for a long while now, don’t you think he has Arch?”

And so, with soothing words and sharp tugs on Archie’s elbow, Forsythe managed to escape from the Coopers without further indulging in listening to gossip, or hearing stories that might or might not be true. Archie appeared to forget about the matter entirely on the way home, instead choosing to focus his attention on that evening’s dinner party, and the prospect of seeing the mini-celebrity in person, but for Forsythe it was a different matter.

He had heard the rumblings, for they were never defined enough to be considered fully formed rumors; that not all was right in the Lodge’s household, but this was something that he could never have imagined. A live-in mistress, divorce and overindulgence, those were the things that scandals were made of, and for a moment, the smallest of inspirational sparks had fluttered before Forsythe’s eyes, flickering away as he reached for it. Still, something was better then nothing.

* * *

“And you’re sure that you’re feeling well enough to spend the evening alone?” asks Mrs. Andrews, halting once again, one foot inside the family’s car.

“Perfectly sure, Mrs. Andrews. You three go enjoy your evening, and give me the high points when you return.”

“I’m sure that Jughead will be perfectly fine Mother,” Archie exclaimed, glancing at Forsythe with mischief filled eyes. “You’re probably making his head ache worse with all your fussing and mother-henning.”

“Well I’m sure I don’t mean to, I just really am worried; young people shouldn’t be complaining of headaches and all this- Yes dear, I’m coming, I’m coming!” In response to her husband’s half-stifled sigh as she entered the car fully, closing the door behind her with a bang.

Forsythe waved to them as the car flew down the driveway, a thick cloud of dust enveloping him as he turned back towards the front door.

“Well, Vegas,” looking down at Vegas, who was weaving anxiously between Forsythe’s feet, “it looks like it’s just you and me now. What do you think about a little walk before dinner, hmm? Good boy,” after Vegas followed Forsythe’s lead around the corner of the house.

It was a beautiful evening, with the sun shining softly over the trees, as if to make up for its laziness in the morning, and a cool breeze blew hard across Forsythe’s face. All was silent, excepting the wind in the leaves and the sound of their feet moving through the grass; and all was perfect.

“I do think that I could spend the rest of my whole life walking peacefully like this; don’t you Vegas?” he mused, and then, again, “Vegas! Vegas get back here this instant!”

For Vegas, being a baser creature, with a mind less inclined to ruminate on the calming affects of nature and all it’s possibilities, had rushed forward, eyes and attention held by the sight of a large object that had been carried by the wind from Cooper’s yard, (which he was not allowed to enter,) into that of his owners; meaning that it could now be considered fair game for anyone who chose to chase it.

“Vegas! Give me that right this instant or I’ll have the servants leash you until Archie gets back! Give it up, you stupid mutt!”

Vegas, perhaps in obedience, or perhaps in shock at being so addressed, loosened his jaw and released his hold on the object before dancing off to a further distance, leaving Forsythe shaking his head and trying to reform the hat, (for that it was a hat was perfectly clear,) to some semblance of its former state and shape with little success.

“Blasted nuisance.” Forsythe murmured, his finger prodding at the hole he had just uncovered in the hat’s brim.

“I admit that I am, and freely too. Aren’t I a brave woman?”

A start, a turn, and there she was; Veronica Lodge; brown eyes staring up at him through thick black lashes, a smile hovering uncertainly over her face. Forsythe flinched slightly and then bit down hard on the inside of his cheek to make up for it before replying, “Perhaps, but I didn’t happen to be talking about you actually.”

“Your dog then?”

“He’s not my dog.”

“Well then, it must be my hat that has grieved you so.”

“Is it your hat?”

She tilted her head in confusion slightly, the bottom of her hair barely scraping the top of her shoulder as she did so, looking up at him.

“Is there any reason why it shouldn’t be?”

“Well it’s clearly a very becoming hat,” _Shut up you fool, send her away! _“But I have nothing but your word that it is yours.”

“And is my word not enough?” she laughed, stepping closer to him.

“Have you given me reason to trust that it is?” Forsythe retorted, catching the smile that was attempting to break forth, and tucking it securely into the corner of his mouth.

She was not plagued by any such qualms however, and a bright smile covered her face revealing a set of bright teeth.

“I’ll tell you what, give me the hat to try on, and if it isn’t the most beautiful thing that you’ve ever laid your eyes upon I will give it up with good grace to become a plaything for your dog that isn’t your dog.”

He handed it to her silently, wondering all the while why he hadn’t just given it to her in the first place and sent her off. Forsythe didn’t want the hat, and he didn’t want to stand here, talking with someone who only a few months ago he had decided to dislike, and yet there he was.

“Well, what do you think,” pouting up at him, “doesn’t it suit me, even with the addition of some dog slobber and dirt?”

“Indeed, Miss?”

“Miss. Lodge; Veronica Lodge,” putting out her hand to him. “And you, I suppose, are the long awaited Mr. Jones.”

Forsythe took the hand—so small that he could nearly have wrapped his own around it completely—and nodded in answer to her almost question.

“Aren’t you going to ask me who’s been waiting for you?”

“No, I don’t think I am.” Forsythe responded, dropping her hand.

“And why not?"

“Because I think that you only said that to confuse me.”

“Did it work; are you confused?”

“No, I’m sure that you heard about me from Betty and put two and two together.”

“Rather clever of me, don’t you think so? After all, you aren’t supposed to be here.”

“Why?”

“Because,” laughing again and pulling the bedraggled hat from her head. “you are supposed to be having a lovely dinner with my hosts right about now, but judging from your manner I don’t believe that I will be seeing you there; will I?”

“No, but…Shouldn’t you be there as well?”

“Well yes, Mr. Jones, I should be, but you see, when I was walking back to the house a mysterious, dark-haired man stole my hat from me and refused to return it!”

Forsythe allowed a small smile to appear at her words, then said, “Well, having defeated the scoundrel, I would suggest that you return to your house post-haste. They are all very curious to see you, you know.”

“Unlike you, you mean. Yes, I see what you’re getting at; even though I can’t help but wish that you were going to be there too, for you face interests me immensely. However, we all must bare our burdens, and I intend to do so with the most fantastical of flourishes. Good-evening to you, Mr. Jones, and thank you for rescuing my hat.”

“Good-evening Miss. Lodge.” Forsythe murmured, watching as she turned back towards Elm House.

“You’ll like Archie.” he blurted out. Veronica looked over her shoulder at him, her expression a mixture of confusion and amusement.

“You’ll like the younger Mr. Andrews I mean,” he amends, wincing at the awkwardness before continuing. “He’s alright, unlike most people. He’s one of the good ones.”

“I shall take your claims under advisement, although, for some reason or another, I don’t doubt you.”

And with those final words she stepped away, soon disappearing from view, with not even a single blade of grass betraying that she had been there.

“…Sir. Mr. Jones, Sir?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes Bane; what is it?” shaking himself and tearing his eyes from the now empty landscape.

“Dinner is prepared Sir, if you should care to come inside.”

“Dinner? Oh, dinner, yes of course; I’d forgotten. Thank you Bane.”

Forsythe ate his dinner in solitude and without his usual relish. The vague idea that had appeared before him that morning had returned, and was twisting in and out of his subconscious, like a willow-the-wisp or a kite on a windy day.

_She’s different then I had thought she would be. _Forsythe thought to himself. _Very different, and clever too, if tonight is anything to go by; and even if she’s only quick instead of clever that's practically the same thing in our modern climate. It seems strange to be talking about the idea of a person rather then the person themselves, but then again, what is one to do when all you ever hear are rumors and whisperings?_

* * *

He had finished supper and was sitting in the drawing room, a cigarette burning it’s way to extinction in one hand and a book of poetry in the other, when Archie and his parents returned. They were glowing from excitement and the evening air, and bursting with praise for their newest acquaintance.

Veronica was just _to_ charming; and she was so beautiful and lady-like—“So very unlike what Alice told me this morning!” Mr. Andrews concurred with everything his wife said, and Archie beamed joyfully upon them; not saying much of anything, but looking as if he had been dazzled by the moon.

“And how was your evening Forsythe; not too dreary I hope? Did anything intresting happen?” asked Mrs. Andrews when she had at last said her fill.

Forsythe smiled and, grinding his cigarette into nothing but dust on the ashtray, replied, “Anything interesting? Oh, no, not really, after all, it was just me, myself, and I, wasn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Egg: A person who lives the big life.


	3. My Prejudice Is None Of Your Concern

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a hot sec since I posted on either of my WIPs but I finally have a new chapter for y'all! I hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you thought in the comments!! 
> 
> -bothromeoandjuliet <3 <3 <3

“Aren’t you coming, Jughead?”

Forsythe, thus addressed, laid aside his book and looked up at the speaker with a sort of half amused, half annoyed expression, before replying, “Aren’t I coming, where, Archie?”

“Why, to the Cooper’s house, of course, where else?”

There was no where else of course, and both Forsythe and Archie knew it, but Forsythe, dazzled by what is commonly referred to as ‘a good nights rest’ and physical lethargy, found pleasure in spinning his brain around Archie’s slower moving wits.

“Well I’m sure that I don’t know, dear old thing,” Lowering his lids to the perfect position for elegant indolence. “You could be going to church for all I know; they have Saturday sermons, don’t they?”

“Oh going to church be d—That is to say…I’m sure that Mrs. Cooper and Betty are expecting it.” Archie finished rather lamely, face flushed with the knowledge of how close he had come to a sacrilegious comment.

“I’m sure they are but I must admit that I fail to see what it has to do with me. After all, it is not as if I’m renowned for my consumership of garden parties.”

“Mrs. Cooper is sure to be offended if you don’t attend, Jughead, and since it is being partially given to introduce Ronnie—Miss. Lodge—to the neighborhood, it will be considered a snub if you do not show your face.”

The forceful truth of Archie’s words were impossible to ignore, and so with a sigh, Forsythe uncoiled, snake-like, from his chair, and together they set off.

It had been a week since Forsythe and Archie had arrived at Willow House, and during that week, Archie and he had spent very little time together, a fact that Forsythe attributed partially, if not completely, to the introduction of Archie to Miss. Lodge, or ‘Ronnie’ as Archie had taken to calling her. Long gone were the lamentations over Josie McCoy, and Forsythe had grown to morn them more and more with each fresh anecdote that was filled with Veronica’s name.

Forsythe didn’t believe that Archie was very seriously in love, he had seen the symptoms of Archie’s love too often to think that, but that he was infatuated was an inescapable fact. How the young lady in question felt was something that Forsythe had chosen not to consider, although he doubted that the girl he had met would be susceptible to Archie’s clumsy charms, heir to old money or no.

Having arrived at Elm House, Archie and Forsythe were ushered out to back lawn. Numerous small groups were scattered about, some playing croquet, some meandering from one flower bed to the next, stooping to sniff the delicate petals, and some beginning an impromptu dance on the stone pathway that led from from the house to the water fountain.

“Shouldn’t we greet Mrs. Cooper?” Forsythe asked.

Archie shook his head, taking Forsythe’s arm and pulling him in the direction of the far side of the lawn. “No, it’s better to leave that to Mother and Father; if we were to try and find her now, we’d never be able to escape! Besides, you’ve got to be introduced to Ronnie.”

Following Archie’s direction, they passed through the crowds and obstructed at least three of the croquet ball’s paths to victory, until they, at last, discovered the court over which Veronica and Betty were ruling.

“Archikins, darling!” Veronica exclaimed as they appeared. “Whatever have you been doing with yourself? Betts and I have been waiting for you for at least the last hour!”

“My deepest apologizes Ronnie,” releasing Forsythe’s arm and stepping forward to stand over Veronica’s chair. “Hullo Betty.”

“Hello Archie,” Betty said, beaming up at Archie from her lawn chair, and then, catching sight of Forsythe, “And hello to you too Forsythe! I don’t that believe you’ve been introduced to Miss. Lodge?”

Forsythe hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He had not told the Andrews of his and Miss. Lodge’s meeting and it was clear from Betty’s question the Miss. Lodge hadn’t either. This, therefore, was to be their first official meeting.

“V,” interrupting Veronica’s conversation with Archie. “V, this is Archie’s friend, Forsythe Jones. Forsythe, this is our house-guest, Veronica Lodge.”

Veronica lifted her eyes to his face, and extended a lazy hand. “Charmed, I’m sure. I do hope Mr. Jones, that you and Archie have been served. No? Well I call that simply unpardonable! Reggie, dear, would you flag down one of the servers?”

“For you, Miss. Lodge, I would do anything.”

“You are dream Reggie, and if I didn’t know better I would almost believe you. Go on now.” Waving him off with one hand while squeezing Betty’s with the other, and ignoring Forsythe completely.

“You aren’t really, terribly, angry that we’re late though, are you, Ronnie? Not truly?”

“Well no, not terribly,” Veronica laughed, cocking her head to the side and crushing the edge of her hair against her shoulder.

“But you did promise to be here early, Archikins, and Betts and I quiet depended on your being here before anyone else. It is so much more comfortable to begin a party with friends at your side after all. No matter,” taking a drink from Reggie’s hand and passing it to Archie, “you are here now, so let us drink and be merry. Although we must punish him, mustn’t we Betty, darling?”

“But how can we?”

“Why, we must insist upon his remaining with us for the remainder of the party, of course!”

“If that is to be my punishment,” cried Archie as he settled down in-between the two girl’s chairs, “let me never be forgiven, for to live life at the feet of Athena and Aphrodite is no hard task.”

Forsythe saw Betty blush at Archie’s words, but Veronica’s eyes, focused as they were upon the pale blue of her gown, flashed at the words as if she were displeased with them.

“A very pretty collection of words, Archie, but, I declare, if I were you I would not be quiet so aboveboard about which of the old myths you felt endowed by.”

Having said this, Forsythe raised his glass as if to toast the party, and then stalked off towards the edge of the cluster, his eyes fixed on a bush of creamy, yellow roses, even though his ears remained focused upon the sounds of the group he had left behind.

“Miss. Lodge, darling, won’t you try some of my _special_ water?” Reginald Mantle pleaded.

“I brought it for you, all for you and no-one else, and you haven’t even tasted it!”

“Why, you are such a bear today Reggie. Can’t you see that I’m trying to converse with Mr. Andrews?”

“But wouldn’t you rather be talking with me, Miss Lodge? I’m sure that I’m much better company.”

Sighing in exasperation at him, Miss. Lodge extended her hand, reaching for the glass Reginald was holding.

“Well, hand it over then. If it’s as special as you say it is then it would be unaccountably rude of me to refuse.”

Forsythe turned at her words and watched as Miss. Lodge took a delicate sip from the flask, grimacing slightly as she did so.

“Well then, Miss. Lodge, what do you say?”

“Well, if I didn’t know any better I would say that this was gin made in a bathtub.”

“But because you do know better?”

“I say that it is gin made in a very _dirty_ bathtub. Honestly,” thrusting the flask back into his hand“if you’re going to break the law, at least do it with some semblance of ability.”

Reginald flushed, tucking the flask away into his waistcoat with muttered apologizes; and Forsythe scoffed quietly.

His action produced an immediate reaction. Miss. Lodge snapped her head ‘round to stare at him, eyes burning with anger. It wouldn’t have surprised Forsythe to learn that that stare had been used to quell the most courageous of young men, but he was not courageous, merely self-assured.

He had built Miss. Lodge up in his mind, as a shallow, average, high-class, princess. He had—early on in her and Jellybean’s acquaintance—decided what sort of woman she was, what box she would fill, and that woman was not the one he had met that night, with the late evening sun flashing against her hair and that mischievous glint in her eyes as they had looked up at him. Forsythe had been trying to reconcile the two ideas in his head ever since—but the current display had solved his quandary for him.

His suspicions had been confirmed—and the feeling was very satisfying.

* * *

“She is the most fascinating creature, Jughead.”

“Really.” Forsythe responded, flipping to the next page of his book with an air of distaste.

It had been days since the Cooper’s garden party, but Forsythe still hadn’t managed to remove the burn of Veronica Lodge’s angry stare from his mind. He wasn’t certain why, but something about it had fixated him and seemed to have no plans on letting go. He paused, staring blankly at the page in front of him, allowing the image of her face to appear before him—then sniffed and abruptly turned to the next page, skipping over the two he had been reading.

“Yes, _really_. You know Jughead,” swinging his feet down from where they had been resting on the arm of the sofa and planting them firmly on the floor as he sat up “I get the distinct impression that you disapprove of ‘Ronnie, and I can’t for the life of me understand why. You’ve only met her once after all, and that was with a crowd of people—which is the hardest place to get to know anyone.”

“Well, I believe that you’re getting to know her well enough for the both of us.” Forsythe rebutted.

Archie scowled, twisting his left cufflink in small, stiff, jerks, and boring his eyes into the side of Forsythe’s head. Forsythe ignored him, flipping to another new page. The silence hung uneasily about the room, disrupted only by the ticking of the family’s grandfather clock and the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps.

“Archie! Forsythe!” Mrs. Andrews called as she entered, waving a small envelope with her hand.

“Oh, good, you’re both here! I have a surprise for you—or rather, _I _don’t have a surprise for you; even though I am the one delivering the surprise—which means that I’m giving you the surprise in a way I suppose—or rather—“

“Well don’t leave us in suspense, Mother. Tell us what this oh so wonderful surprise is.”

“Well, you know that your father and I are going into the city with Harold and Alice tonight to see a play and in view of that fact, you and Forsythe have been invited by Betty and Veronica to have dinner with them at the Elm House!”

“Do you hear that, Jughead?” Archie asked in heavily exaggerated tones “A dinner party! I always think that dinner parties are the best place to get to know people don’t you?”

Snapping his book closed, Forsythe turned to glare at Archie, screwing his mouth up into a thin line. Archie grinned amiably at him, then returned his attention to Mrs. Andrews who was still speaking.

“—and so of course I excepted for both of you—you can never have to much I always think—and so Veronica said—“

“Veronica?”

“She was here?”

Both Archie and Forsythe broke out, their words rushing into each others with a frantic pounding. They glanced at one another—each wondering at the other’s tone—and Mrs. Andrews continued on unconcerned.

“Well, yes, of course she was here—she is the one who came to invite you! And she said that if you did want to come, dinner will be be at seven o’clock and—Oh, is that the time? I have to go speak to Bane about tonight’s arrangements—“ and out she fluttered, like a nervous hen with too many chicks.

Archie turned back to Forsythe, his eyebrows lifted mocking.

“Well, Forsythe? What do you say to this little development?”

“I say that you are being entirely too gleeful about this. One dinner party isn’t going to change my opinion about someone.”

“Nor should it—but you will go?”

“If it is the only thing that will please you, yes, I will go to the dinner. But I must insist upon you leaving me to my book until then—I’d meant to finish today.”

“You have my word!” Archie promised, bounding to his feet and vaulting over the back the sofa on his way to the door; slamming it behind him.

Forsythe rolled his eyes at Archie’s retreating back and then turned back to his book—sighing when he realized that not only had he closed it and lost his place, he had also jumped a full seven pages ahead where he should be. It seemed like it was going to be a very long day.


End file.
